


Everything you know is wrong

by MeltingPenguins (lilmaibe)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, Other, Role Reversal, Roleswap, Switching, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilmaibe/pseuds/MeltingPenguins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You know how on the telly such parties usually end with everyone becoming what they were dressed as, if it's a remotely supernatural show? Imagine that would happen now.'<br/>When Crowley muses this during a fancy costume party, he hadn't expected it to not take long for him and Aziraphale to not even have to imagine what a mess it would be. Especially since demon and angel had dressed up as an angel and a demon.<br/>(Work in Progress. To be updated irregulary. All comments welcome, especially if you spot me using american english)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything you know is wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer as usual.  
> This is, in addition, in no way meant to mock or spoof or rip off 'The Sacred and the Profane'. Comments welcome. Expect oddities.

On a motorway somewhere outside of London and a much too small collection of minutes until midnight…  
It had been a rather dark and stormy night, and the big puddles of water, reflecting the electric light from the lamps lining the road, remain to tell the tale.  
Two motorcycles roar through the night.  
The first one, somewhat greenishbrown in colour, has an odd appearance to it, of something just not being quite right. It’s going too fast to take a closer look at it though.  
It is chased by a sleek, slim, black, vintage machine that might make Famine jealous.  
This is the bike that we shall direct our attention to.  
It had been going at around 100 miles per hour but now is being slowed down by…well… and this is a rather uncommon sight…the wings of the second passenger. They are clinging to the driver, and have spread wide a pair of rather not-so-well-groomed wings, which currently are having very much the effect of an drogue parachute.  
This causes the driver to turn his head and screech at his passenger.  
The passenger, in response climbs up in his seat, trying to keep his balance, and pats the driver on the shoulder.  
“I’ll try to get’im from above”, he says, “See that you get this baby up to full speed without me, ang-”, The passenger, Crowley, hesitates, grimaces and takes flight, a few thoughts running through his head:  
 _This mess needs to get brought back to normal._  
 _My and Aziraphale’s normal._  
 _Not the rest of the whole bless-… damn-… buggering reality’s normal._  
And there’s hardly any time left to do so.  
  
-Some days previous-  
  
“Just one thing, angel”, Crowley said as he stopped the Bentley in front a small, pretty modern looking house, a few cars scooting just slightly to make space for him.  
  
A few days back, they had been invited to a costume party. Originally only Crowley had been invited, but when Aziraphale got wind of that, he insisted on coming along as a chaperonage. Well, not so much insisted as kindly reminded Crowley that it would be rather hindering in terms of The Arrangement if he, Crowley, were to go there alone and proceed to tempt and seduce without him, Aziraphale, being there to even the scales. What with all the alcohol at such parties and frivolous costuming, if he was forced to have to guess what Crowley had gotten up to on such an occasion, he might overshoot when it came to trying to making up for it. Which in return, would mean more work for Crowley.  
In response to this rather well-worded argument, Crowley had only said “Card says ‘To one Mr Anthony J. Crowley and company’, angel” and smiled wickedly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you anyway,” which rather took some wind out off Aziraphale’s sails. ”So, what’ll you be then?’, Crowley had asked and the angel had just shrugged.  
‘I can’t think of anything, actually’, he had admitted.  
After that Crowley had assumed Aziraphale would whip out that old magician’s cloak of his and just go in that. And it wasn’t until just the previous day that he himself had finally gotten THE BEST idea for what to dress up as.  
It was a particularly ridiculous idea, he thought as he had went to pick the angel up, eager to see his reaction.  
But, upon opening the door, they had just stood there, facing each other in awkward silence and silent awkwardness: Angel and demon, dressed up as…a demon and an angel.  
Now, Humans would have went with a red bodysuit, pitchfork, forked tail, and horned headband for the demon and, respectively, a white robe, cheap wings and a plastic and wire halo for the angel. And while Aziraphale and Crowley did make a purchase of the respective headgear, both had felt as if they’d deeply insult the other, as well as life, the universe and everything, but especially the other, were they to go with the rest of the traditional ensemble. This was something neither of them would do, even though they might not admit it if asked. The result of their almost identical thought processes was that they pretty much only looked as if their respective roles had been switched.  
Roles, but not style, apparently, what resulted in Aziraphale wearing a wine-red shirt, a dark sweater, black tweed jacket, grey and black tie, black trousers and, Crowley had raised a brow at this, black pumps(1) with a snake and apple scribbled on them.  
  
 _(1) Note for american readers: Those be sneakers. Enjoy the brief mental image anyway._  
  
Crowley had settled for a near-white suit, light grey shirt, white tie and a waistcoat with a light blue, white and gold paisley print. He originally had aimed for tartan, but just couldn’t get himself to do it.  
There’s a line even he would not cross, even if it was only for a night.  
  
“Tartan isn’t diabolical”, Crowley said, as they left the just parked car.


End file.
